Emmy latched on to her arm as the abrupt stop jerked them all forward. “Oh, careful. People drive like their hair’s on fire nowadays, and it’s gotten worse lately.”
The large semi tore by well above the speed limit, missing them by inches, the whoosh of air in its wake rocking Emmy’s truck. Pulling in a deep breath, Kristen checked that the kids were still safely strapped in the backseat, steadied her shaky hands around the steering wheel, then completed the turn.
Emmy scrubbed her cheeks and sat up straight. “Did you ask me something earlier?”
The sad note in her tone was gone, a slight thread of confusion having taken its place.
“Yes.” Kristen carefully parked beside Mitch, watching as he walked over with powerful strides. “The gourd rack. I asked if you still use it.”
“Nah.” Emmy unbuckled her seat belt. “I got no idea where Joe’s gourd patch is. That was his place, you know. We both had our own quiet spots to think things over. Besides, it’s probably grown over and useless now. Was nice when he had them, though. Those purple martins loved ’em, and the birds kept the pests down, too.”
Mitch opened Kristen’s door before she had a chance to, and his eyes raked over her, Emmy, and the kids. “Y’all all right?”
Emmy waved a hand and shoved her own door open. “Yep. Some lunatic tried to run us over, but we’re fine.”
Mitch looked Kristen over again, his intense gaze stirring warm flutters that spread throughout her body. “Sure?”
She nodded and swung her legs out. “We’re good.”
His big hand engulfed hers, and he assisted her as she slid down. Then he opened the back door and helped Sadie climb out. The gentle grip of his long fingers left behind a strong, comforting sensation, which Kristen savored longer than she should have.
“I’ll run in, give Jeff the keys, and then we’ll head to the community center,” Mitch said, heading for the front entrance.
“Wait. We’ll come with you.” Emmy grinned at Dylan. “You got that flyer I asked you to make?”
Dylan didn’t crack a smile but held up a piece of paper. There was a picture of a huge strawberry in the middle with an advertisement to “pick your own” at Hart’s Hollow Farm.
Emmy’s smile widened. “Oh, that looks perfect. Lead the way, Mitch. Think you can talk that friend of yours into doing you one more favor?”
Mitch frowned. “Jeff’s already doing me a plenty big one by getting that car back to Atlanta. What do you need?”
“Fifty color copies of this flyer run off on that fancy doodad of his.”
“What for
?”
“To slap up around town, of course,” Emmy huffed. “Can’t get customers out to the farm if we don’t invite ’em. Kristen, grab one of those buckets of strawberries out of the truck bed and, Dylan, put on your best smile. We’re gonna make an exchange and get some free advertisement while we’re at it.”
Mitch shook his head, and Dylan looked put out, but everyone did as they were asked. It took only a few minutes for Emmy to sweet-talk Jeff, the dealership’s energetic and cheery owner, into making copies of the flyer in exchange for the strawberries. Shortly thereafter, they left the dealership, drove to the community center, and walked inside.
“They’ve redone the place,” Mitch said, hovering on the threshold of the conference room and glancing around. “New screen and projector. Tables, chairs.”
New beige carpet, too. Kristen breathed in a lungful of the fresh fiber smell, the low hum of idle conversation and the cool air filling the wide space making her limbs sluggish.
“Ah, Mitch,” a deep voice boomed. A tall, robust man, dressed in a suit and standing in a small group by a large mahogany table, walked over, hand outstretched. “Good to see you. I heard you’d dropped in for a visit.”
“A long visit,” Emmy clarified, giving a satisfied smile as Mitch shook the man’s hand. “He’s staying.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah. Just for the summer,” Mitch explained. “Took a leave of absence and had a lot of vacation time I decided to use up.” He stepped to the side and ushered Kristen forward. “Charles, I’d like you to meet Kristen Daniels. She’s helping out at Hart’s Hollow.”
“Nice to meet you, Kristen.” He shook her hand. “I’m Charles Holt. An old friend and former classmate of Mitch’s.”
Kristen smiled. “Good to meet y—”
“Mitch!” A brunette with a pretty grin, who appeared to be around Kristen’s age, rushed over and hugged Mitch. “This is a surprise. I didn’t expect to see you around here again until at least Christmas. How’s life in New York? Still designing those fancy high-rises?”